Hide-and-Seek

“How come I don’t remember that?” I asked, looking through my glass.

“Your father, sir, did not want to make it public and it was decided to deal with the matter privately, even though, I must say, there was a considerable sum of money involved. In the end she had to go and take her son with her,” Harry said and finished his wine.

I looked at Harry. “Little J?”

“Right. He was a nice boy, but with a bit of a temper.”

“What happened to Susan?”

“They moved to the States and, if I’m not mistaken, she passed away a few years ago.”

“Do you know what happened to Little J?”

“I heard that he’d made quite a fortune across the pond,” Benny said.

Harry stood up. “I heard that as well. Benny, could you take these plates away and start on that coffee?”

How come I’d never heard that?

Benny took our plates and went to the house to make coffee.

“Dessert, sir?” Harry asked me.

“Absolutely. One thing though. How did they know it was Susan?”

“Oh, we found the frame from one of the missing pictures in one of the pantries, sir,” he said and started to cut the cake that had come from the local bakery.

I put my glass down. “In the pantry? How did you know it was her?”

“She used it more than others, I suppose.”

“That’s an odd place to hide something valuable, don’t you think?”

“It is, sir.” Harry gave me a plate with a piece of cake. “She was lucky she wasn’t arrested, if I may say so,” Harry said. “It was very generous of your father to let her go without pressing charges.”

“How did she take it?”

“Oh, she was quite upset.” He nodded, and the corners of his mouth drew downwards. “She was a good woman and, to be entirely honest, we didn’t believe that she could’ve done something of the sort. She actually stayed for a time and helped us while we were all busy with the search.”

“Who did?” Benny asked, coming back with the coffee pot.

“Susan Shannon,” Harry answered, frowning at Benny’s familiarity in front of me.

“Oh, yeah.” Benny nodded, not noticing the frown. “She helped us with those rats in the basement, didn’t she?”

“Did they find what happened to the pictures?” I asked, trying to conclude the topic.

“To my knowledge, they never found out who’d done it,” Harry said.

“I suspected two drifters who worked at the estate at that time, but they had some sort of alibi,” Benny said pouring the coffee. “Poor Susan though.”

I put a piece of cake in my mouth and nodded to Harry approvingly, pointing to the cake. He smiled.

“By the way, Benny,” I said when I swallowed my dessert, “you did a splendid job of keeping the lawn in perfect shape. I kind of expected to see it waist high.”

Benny was pleased to hear it. “Thank you, sir.”

The subject was successfully changed to gardening and house maintenance.

Chapter 9

I woke up early on Monday morning in my apartment and checked my phone for any messages. Surprisingly, there were none. Before putting the phone back on my bedside stand and contemplating a few more hours of sleep, I noticed what date it was – First of May. It was my mother’s birthday and the birthday of Charlie. They were born on the same day, which my mother had taken as a blessing from above, and the day was always special in Maple Grove House. We would have a grand party and my mother would take countless pictures with Charlie. For many years after Charlie’s disappearance, my mother stopped receiving her presents and would only celebrate his birthday. The number of candles on his favorite honey cake, which my mother and her sister Lucy would bake themselves, would be equal to the age of what he would have been. I would call her on this day no matter wherever I was or whatever the state of our relationship at that moment. Charlie’s birthday would negate all the arguments for one day and we would talk about him. I would aways end our conversation with Happy birthday, Mother to which she would always reply It’s not about me today, mon chеri, it’s about Charlie, and she would sometimes add, Thank you, though.

“Hello, Mother,” I said when she finally answered the phone. Sometimes it would take her ages to locate it.

“Good morning, mon chеri.” I could sense she was in one of her sad moods. “Nice to hear your voice … finally.”

“Happy birthday …to Charlie,” I said.

“Happy birthday to Charlie,” she said. “He would’ve been thirty-seven now.”

“Right.”

“Perhaps married with a few children.”

“Definitely,” I said following our usual routine of imagining what Charlie’s life would have been if he was alive. “He would probably have had a few dogs, cats, horses and snakes or something.” My list of Charlie’s imaginary pets had always put a smile on my mother’s face. I heard her chuckling and I smiled. I didn’t want her to be too sad today. We chatted for a bit and ended our conversation with the usual lines. I felt that I had done something good today and deserved some decent news in return. And that’s exactly what I received.

It was in the afternoon when I obtained the anticipated update from Jared’s people. I was getting ready to meet with some acquaintances I had met in a night club a few years ago–a fun bunch of people who liked to party–who had promised that there would be some women I might like. Jared’s assistant called and informed me that they had sent me an email with the proposal’s outlines. She asked me to read it and, provided I was willing to accept it, asked me to stop by the office next week to look at the paperwork and asked permission for their team to visit Maple Grove House for some assessment work. I gave my approval to the team right away and thanked her for the call.

The outlines of the proposal were quite simple. Jared was willing to provide the necessary funds to build the cottages upon successful promotion of the project and receiving at least two downpayments. So I had to use my own money to begin the project and he would join me once he saw it was going well. I could not say I was happy with it, but it was a definite sign that he was interested. In my position, I felt like I had to roll the dice and accept it–beggars can’t be choosers and all that.

I called my lawyer, Mr. Goldberg, and told him about the deal. He was not too enthusiastic about the conditions either, but it was “definitely better than nothing if you’re smart about it.” He was an old friend of the family and knew me well. Too well, I might add. For him, it was good news because it meant that the dry spell might be over, and he was finally going to get paid for his work. He had been our family’s lawyer for more than forty years. In fact, my grandfather had hired him to do some paperwork when he was still a law school student. He continued to personally provide his invaluable services even after he had started his own firm, Goldberg and Associates, which became quite a respectable company in the City. I asked him to join me in the meeting with Jared’s team; I preferred to have him by my side to correct my slips of the tongue.

“Let’s do everything right this time,” Mr. Goldberg said, reminding me of some of my decisions in the past that had been made in a hurry.

I had to let my parents know. They had never been too worried about money for the greater part of their lives. My father didn’t show much concern for it outwardly because, as he explained once, he was “an old-fashioned gentleman and it was vulgar to talk about it.” That, however, didn’t mean that he was a reckless spender. On the contrary, he was trying his best to preserve what had been left to him. He also had other investments in different parts of the country and often travelled to meet with his business partners when I was young. His business activities and the financial returns on his investments had significantly subsided over the years after Charlie’s disappearance because he had been neglecting the business side and focusing more on supporting my mother and, probably, inwardly, dealing with it himself. Recently, despite the lack of a proven track of success on my side, he started to give me more opportunities, within certain financial limits, to help him with improving our financial situation and to teach me to “be accountable for my own actions and for the future of the family.” My mother had always trusted my father with all the financial decisions and didn’t want to spend her time “counting coins.”

I called them the next day. My father didn’t feel well, and I spoke to my mother. She tried to sound happy, but I could sense a bit of acting in her voice. She didn’t want to do anything with the house after Charlie had vanished. As far as she was concerned, I could sell the lot. I felt a bit disappointed that my idea hadn’t impressed her much, but I didn’t dwell on that too long because some good money was to be made, which was the most important thing, and my mother had never been interested in finances anyway. I was sure it would work this time.

Later the same day, I had plans to spend some time with Natasha and Christopher. Back in university, the ever-reliable Christopher had proved himself to be an excellent drinking partner and an expert in dealing with hangovers. The two qualities that I still valued. Unlike James Harding, Christopher was a neat gentleman–trustworthy and a real pleasure to get drunk with. I hadn’t told either of them about the deal. These were the people who had not worn their hearts on their sleeves, and I had been one of them.

Natasha arranged for us to go to some charity event and announced the news when we were having dinner at a French bistro.

“There’ll be a lot of people who are looking for opportunities to invest their money,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to meet someone useful.”

“Whom will we be giving our money this time, darling?” Christopher asked, sipping his Old Fashioned. He liked charity events because it was not only “a way to give back,” but also they were “good places to meet smart and educated people.” Unlike me, he enjoyed having meaningful conversations and learning new things.

“I need to check my schedule,” I said and raised my index finger before anyone could make a sarcastic comment. “I mean it this time.” I looked at Natasha. “When will this wonderful event of yours take place?”